


Like Father, Like Son (4)

by iamisaac



Series: Lacking Humanity/Like Father, Like Son/Humanity's Son [10]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5234144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamisaac/pseuds/iamisaac





	Like Father, Like Son (4)

They had returned to Draco’s bedroom, and Harry stood in the doorway, looking around at what felt almost like a sanctuary. He watched as, lazily, Draco drew an oblong in the air with his wand, and jerked his head to summon Harry to his side.

“Your lover,” he said; and Harry realised that Draco had drawn a window through which he could see a different, barred room. A man, his back to Draco’s window, was standing, hands grasping the floorlength bars in front of him, chained by the neck to the wall. He was naked, and Harry’s breathing quickened because he was also all too familiar. Remus.

Lucius Malfoy was facing him through the bars, wand raised, face cold and hard. Although in general no sound penetrated to Harry, one word cut through the air as he watched.

”Crucio”

Harry watched as Remus’s body jerked, head dropping, hands white at the knuckles as he clasped the bars as if he could not let go. He turned away, horrified eyes on Draco.

“Fuck, Malfoy – stop it! Stop him, for God’s sake!”

Draco directed his gaze back to the cell, and Harry saw that Lucius had raised his wand. Slowly, Remus was lifting his head, and Harry could see the sweat standing out on his shoulders and back. There was a moment’s pause, as if all four men were holding their breath, and then slowly, deliberately, Lucius lowered his wand again. At once, Harry saw the muscles tense in Remus’s back as the pain wracked him, and, shaking, he grabbed Draco, fingers biting into his shoulders.

“God Malfoy, you can’t let your father do this. Shit, fucking stop him!”

“Get your hands off me, Potter,” drawled Draco.

Harry’s hands tensed, tightening for a second, but then he let go, moving stumblingly back from Draco and casting another appalled look through the window. His mind was filled with memories of Neville’s parents, tortured into insanity; of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks, who had died from repeated applications of the Cruciatus curse.

“Please do something,” he said shakily, his voice suddenly not under his control

God, this was all his fault; the lies he’d told. And now Remus was… he was… Harry was finding it hard to breathe.

“Please, Draco.” He was desperate. “Please, please stop your father before he kills him.” His voice cracked. “Draco, I’m begging you – please?”

Was Draco looking slightly pale, too? Harry was in no state to tell, his eyes constantly flicking to where Lucius was torturing Remus, the curse being lifted and reapplied at whim. His voice showed no sign of emotion.

“Most people beg on their knees, Potter.”

Harry was past pride, past caring about anything but the desperate need to stop Lucius Malfoy, stop him before it was too late. He was on his knees almost before Draco had finished, white to the lips and trembling.

“Draco… please.” The catch in his voice was close to a sob; he was finding it hard to swallow past the lump in his throat.

“And tell me why I should save your lover from his punishment?” asked Draco softly.

Harry’s head dropped. He was shaking and sick and the words, even now, were hard to say aloud. It was a mere whisper that escaped him.

“Because I lied.” 

He couldn’t look at Draco, nor forgive himself for putting Remus through this. If Remus died, if he went mad, it would be due to him; due just to him and his idiotic pride.

“What?” Draco’s voice was sharper, less of his usual drawl evident.

Harry took a hysterical breath.

“I lied, I lied – God, please, Draco stop him. He’s never bloody touched me, I swear it – please Draco… Fuck… I made it up. I made it all up.” He could hear himself babbling, was praying for Draco to listen, to help him.

“Why should I believe you now?” demanded Draco, his own voice unsteady.

“Oh God…” Harry’s breath was coming out in gasping sobs, his glasses hanging off one ear as he grovelled at Draco’s feet, unable to look him in the eye. “I don’t know, it’s true, I swear. Give me a truth potion, anything, just please fucking stop him killing Remus. Please. I’ll do anything.”

There was a brief silence, and then Draco said, very softly

“I’ll hold you to that, Potter.”

There was a pop, and then all Harry could hear was his own sobbing breathing; and when he looked up, Draco had vanished. He stayed on his knees on the floor, not sure that his legs would lift him even if he tried to move; listening and praying – hopeing that Draco was merciful, that his father would listen to him. The five minutes that Draco was gone seemedl ike eternity as Harry tried to pull himself together, to rub away the shaming tears burning in his eyes, both dreading and impatient for Draco’s return.

When Draco Apparated, Harry had no words, but looked pleadingly at him. Draco grabbed the back of Harry’s robes and thrust him to the window. Lucius had gone; Remus, Harry saw in sick horror, had collapsed and was lying crumpled on the floor.

“He… He’s not…” Harry couldn’t frame the words.

“Oh, he’s alive,” said Draco, back to his careless drawl. “Perhaps not feeling his best, but he’ll live. Werewolves mend easily, you know.”

“Thank God.” Harry’s voice was muffled as he too slumped down, but Draco’s hand was still at the back of his neck and he wrenched him back up onto his knees.

“Oh no, Potter,” he said laconically. “You and I have a few things to talk about…”

The paleness of Harry’s skin was stained with the flush of red which burned his cheeks. Automatically, he pushed his glasses back securely onto his nose, but his gaze was fixed on Draco’s feet rather than his face.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

“Why don’t you look at me and say that?” Draco seemed utterly in control of himself. Harry saw a wand movement, and the window had vanished, leaving just the normal bedroom – and Draco.

“I…”

“Look at me, Potter.” Draco’s voice was harsher than Harry was used to, and he found himself obeying, tear-stained and shamed.

“Draco…” Harry stumbled to a halt.

Draco’s eyes, deep grey and dangerous, felt like they were penetrating him to the core.

“I want to know what other lies you’ve told,” said Draco coldly. “You lied about Lupin. What else have you been lying about?”

Harry could hear the sound of his own heart beat resounding in his ears.

“Oh God,” he said miserably.

“How many lies have you told? How many men have you fucked?”

Harry’s hands were clenched so tightly that his nails had broken the skin of his palms. He owed Malfoy the truth – fuck, he owed him Remus’s life. But he was silent, his head dropping until Draco grasped his hair and forced him to look into those eyes.

“How many, Potter?” demanded Draco inexorably.

He couldn’t say the words, but his eyes spoke the truth aloud.

“Had you ever…?” Draco asked.

It was the slightest shake of the head, and Draco’s sneer re-emerged.

“If you’d never been with a guy, tell me, Potter, how you were so hot for it.” There was an edge of cynicism in Malfoy’s voice. “Because you were – you are.” His eyes raked Harry’s body with heated reminiscence, and Harry, helplessly, found even now that his body responded to that look. “You wanted to lie down for me, to take my cock in your mouth – you wanted…” He paused, arrested. “You wanted me.” He was looking at Harry again, and he bent over so that his mouth was hot by Harry’s ear. “Do you still want me, Potter? Do you want me to take you and fuck you into the ground?”

Harry wanted to be able to say no. He was exposed, ripped apart in front of Draco Malfoy, humiliated. Surely he could deny this longing?

“Do you?”

There had been too many lies. Of all the times, he couldn’t do it.

“Yes.” It was a mere whisper.

Draco’s pointed face was slightly flushed, but the smirk – and the drawl – was back.

“Louder. What do you want, Potter?”

Don’t make me say it. Harry couldn’t do it. But Draco’s hands were on his body, warm and suggestive.

“What do you want?” he drawled lazily; and Harry crumbled.

“You.” It was misery – desire – desperation. “Please. Fuck me.”


End file.
